Note: this somewhat silly poem stems from a thought about the implications of naturalism. Apart from a line near the end, however, there is nothing in here that couldn't just as well celebrate the miracle of digestion.

A.

Apples.

Red apples.

I am eating red apples!

R  ed       apples
Re    da        p p           le                                s
Erd  paples

Apserd  elp
Saplederpde!

Do you see me chew red apples?

Sapler
Sap
S

M'mmm - Delicious!

Yes indeed, in apple crisp or fritter, apple sauce or pie,
I'll eat apples till I die!

So:

Apples to my clavicles,
Apples to my cones,
Apples to the red stuff
Hidden in my bones.

Apples to my glutamis
Apples to my toes
Apples to the follicles
Flowing up my nose

Apples to my right brain,
Apples to my lungs
Apples to the taste buds
Stationed on my tongue.

Zowie - so in time you see,
Apple matter becomes me.

And given that these apples
Are become I,
That which was blind
Now peers into sky,
Beholding the bend and red of a younger batch.

(And MacIntosh really are the apple of my eye.)

Indeed. I take apples form their deaf and dumb estate,
And make the orators.
Through me, apples relish symphonies.
Apples know their texture,
Apples know there taste
Apples, like some distant star
That fell from outer space
Look back into the sky
To see an ancient kin.

Oh, Apples of the world unite,
Throw off your shackles,
Join the Kirk
And wear a touching skin.

Oh I am the great liberator of apples!